In Shadows
by solioquyforme
Summary: The unconventional story of Sigyn and her bond with Loki. I know very little about the Norse mythology or the Marvel universe, this is just my adaptation of things. Rated M for later
1. Preface

In Shadows

Prologue:

Sigyn, daughter of Iwald and Syn, made Asgard her home when she was young. Her father was entitled by Odin to be his advisor to the nine realms and tutor his two young sons. Iwald possessed the power of impossible knowledge and foresight, the perfect companion to the protector of Yggdrasil. Syn was the daughter of a Vanaheim lord and was a powerful healer. Sigyn inherited both her father's power of knowledge and her mother's healing magic, although her sense of foresight was not very acute, she could sense large amounts of magic and destruction throughout the nine realms occasionally.

Sigyn grew in the palace of Asgard, amoung the royalty and privileged and warriors of the realm. She made friends with the others that gained respect in the palace: the Princes of Asgard, Thor and Loki, Lady Sif, and the Warriors Three, Fandral, Hogun, and Volstagg. They were all roughly the same age, within a year or two of each other, and closely bonded as young friends do.

They all had their place in palace life. Thor, Sif and the Warriors Three developed into soldiers of the realm. Loki, technically a warrior, had very little interest in the art of war, and more on the art of magic and books. Sigyn never liked battle, although skilled with a bow, fixated to what she new best, books and healing.

While overshadowed by the more appreciated work of the others in the eyes of the people of Asgard, Sigyn held her place in the group and was respected for her effort amoung them. Sigyn was quite happy about her place, never one for taking triumph well, always embarrassed by the humiliation of public approval. She had a way about her, perhaps through her mother's gift or her father's, that she could calm any tensions amoungst the group.

She was the one they turned to for insight on problems and she would give them the answers they sought. Sif and her gossiped and talked of the fantasies they had about life in such a structured life in the palace, as well as Sif's battle with her parents about her dream of being a warrior. Thor came to her when he quarreled with Loki or his father. As for the Warriors Three, they hardly came for advice. Fandral, when alone with Sigyn, would try to woo her, much to the disgust of Sigyn, who thought very little of marriage. Hogun never talked much anyway and would only exchange pleasantries with her when needed; and Volstagg mostly gave Sigyn advice on foods and cooking.

As for Loki, he and Sigyn were closest. Having so much in common with their interest in books and stories, they connected over such matters. Loki would very often come to Sigyn with sorrow and rage, for he never felt worthy or equal to Thor, who always shined brighter than the darkness of Loki. He would pace and weep in the archives or the meadow, where they met, spilling the deepest depths of his fear of loneliness and betrayal. Sigyn sat with him, rubbing his shoulders as he talked, passing a calming spell through him, although it hardly worked against his prevailing magic.

Sigyn, despite being the advisor to her group of friends, was cursed with spells of absolute melancholy at times for weeks on end, where she couldn't reason or talk herself out of such misery. Others let her be, as was practice on Asgard to keep the cursed away from daily activities to heal their thoughts, though Loki would visit Sigyn daily, trying to break the spell that left her such way. He would weave his magic through her, attempting a joyful glimmer through her eyes, even if they never worked, he wished for her recovery. Loki would read to her, as she was curled upon her bed, head hidden in a tear soaked pillow, stories of far off lands and the old tales humans wrote on Migard. There was a mutual vulnerability between the two that never made them look poorly on one another, but quite the opposite, one of admiration for each other's strength to face the day. They saw each other at their worst and the best; their friendship grew incredibly close through the ages.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One:

She woke sweating, terrified, shaking. Her body was frozen, tingling with cool enchantment. Something wasn't right.

Her room was wrapped tight in blackness; no sun peaked through her closed windows. The air was filled of summer morning dew, sticking to her skin in a dappled embrace. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and listened for movement outside her locked door. Only boots echoed a long stanza down the hall.

Sigyn swung her feet from under the covers of her bed, feeling the cool cobblestones of the floor. She restlessly stretched out the tightness of a tormented sleep in her neck. She shook off the thought of her nightmare that haunted her dreams. It was the same dream that came the previous night, and the night before that. Death was chasing her through an unfamiliar realm, enveloping her in blackness in an infinite forest full of hideous creatures and ghosts. She could never escape until she woke, trapped in Death's insidious game.

Still aware of the magic around her, she shivered in its hold.

A piercing screech rang down the hall.

Quickly, Sigyn tossed the linens from her and grasped for her robe on her vanity, throwing it around her shoulders. The sensation she was feeling intensified, burning her skin like fire and smoldering down her body. Rushing to open her door, she heard another cry.

She threw the door open to see soldiers parading swiftly past her, their weapons drawn in fear. Their eyes shone with the petrified look of an attack. They gathered near the end of the corridor, to where her parent's apartment was. The few servants that were awake at this hour stood frozen against the walls, staring in horror to the group of guards down the hall.

Tearing anxiously down the corridor, Sigyn rushed through the men at arms.

"Make way," she urged, pushing her way to the sitting room of her parent's residence.

Looking nervously around, she saw nothing unusual in the room. No broken glass, no torn furniture, nothing out of place. Spinning around the room in a daze, she caught eye of the form of her mother, draped at the side of the bed, across a motionless figure. She staggered to the open doorway, staring wide-eyed at the sight of the bed.

Her father laid still. He looked most peaceful although his blue eyes pierced the heavens above him. He wore his night clothes, hardly wrinkled with sleep, his arms folded casually on his lap. Her mother had entwined her fingers with his, as lovers usually did. She was kneeling at the side of the bed, sobbing loudly, her head buried into her outstretched arms.

"Mother, what-what happened?" Sigyn breathlessly asked, shuffling her feet next to her mother's side.

She reached out to touch the bed, to steady her from the faintness that rushed her head. Slowly, she lowered herself to her mother's side and placed a hand on her father's unmoving body. The light blanket that covered his legs still held the warmth that once rested under it.

Syn lifted her head heavily. There were deep bags under her brown eyes and they were riddled with red as tears streamed down her pale cheeks. Her thin lips quivered with grief. She wrapped an arm around Sigyn wearily, pulling her close.

"He woke, most suddenly, and shook me awake," her mother cried. "He said that he was dying, so softly, as though he was in a waking dream. But… he asked me to hold his hand as he passed and then – and then, he was gone."

Syn started to sob again, burying her face into her husband's side, once more draping her arms across his body in a desperate plea to hold onto any form of life that his body still had.

Desperately Sigyn wanted to break down, yet she knew she couldn't just yet. Her mother needed someone to look after her right now. She never handled grief well. When Sigyn's grandfather had passed, her mother had locked herself in her room, escaping from the world. For months she was like that, unmoving, hardly blinking. If Sigyn began to weep, she may enter a spell for weeks, something her mother couldn't afford to care for with her own mourning. Their world seemed to shift unknowingly to an obscure path and her mother would need guidance, someone for the next few hours to help her mourn and recover her reason.

No, Sigyn couldn't mourn now. She didn't believe she even could. As hard as she tried, no tears came from her eyes, as her mother rained sadness on the bed. She couldn't believe this had happened. She was in shock, completely astounded that someone who was in complete health was suddenly gone. For what seemed like hours, she tried to cry with her mother. A sadness rose within her, but would not rise above the surface, only revolving inside her. This inner turmoil, she felt, may be worse than her mother's shone grief. For her mother's grief could be forced out and eventually cease. The sting she felt would build toxically into a tempest.

The shock that woke her must have been the passing of her father. She had felt a similar feeling before, years before, when she was younger. She felt as though her whole body was being slowly frozen, tickling her skin. She was with her father in his study when it had happened, this feeling. He was sitting at his desk writing on a long scroll when he collapsed in pain, hurling ink across the small room. He cradled his head in his hands, grimacing in unbearable pain. Between her new, unknown sensation and the torture her father was going through, Sigyn was terrified. That day, the great Seer of Astra, Erato, was killed, pushing her magic through the realms. As she sat with her mother, Sigyn wondered if anyone across the universe felt her father's passing.

Light started to push the bounds of the boarded windows of the room. Commotion began to fill the corridor outside, deafened by the mass of guards still standing outside the main door. The sound of servants carrying trays and pots meant breakfast was fast approaching. The rest of the palace would be awake shortly.

Healers from the charnel room eventually came, with their long chair and shrouds. Her mother pleaded with them desperately not to move him just yet, crying on her knees, trying to cling to any inch of him that she could. Sigyn helped her mother off her knees, clinching her tightly as she dug her head into Sigyn's shoulder. As the healers carted her father out of the room, servants began pouring in the apartment, changing linens and pulling back the shutters, drowning the room in a bright sunlight. Sigyn strained to see in the odd light.

A servant girl, much younger than herself passed Sigyn, carrying a pitcher of fresh water. Sigyn lightly stopped the girl.

"Could you take my mother to another room in the palace?" She asked, looking down at the girl's large brown eyes. "She must rest away from this place."

The girl gave a slight curtsey and placed the jug on the bedside table.

"Mother," Sigyn said softly, lifting her mother's head off her shoulder. "She's going to take you to another room. Try to sleep. I'll gather you later."

Sigyn passed her mother to the small girl, who took Syn's hand in her own. Syn swayed tiredly with the girl out of the apartment in a daze.

She made her way slowly, in a trance, through the wave of healers, servants, and soldiers, dragging herself back to her own room. Her feet seemed weighted; her whole body did, with exhaust and despair. Sigyn mustered enough strength to force her door open just barely to squeeze through and nearly fell before making it to the edge of her bed.

Sigyn seemed hollow, completely empty. Sure, she's felt like this before hundreds, if not thousands, of times before. Though this catacomb was unfamiliar to her. This external cause of her pain reached her core more profoundly, more intensely; not the dull, everlasting anguish of dejection, but more severe; as though her heart was being torn from its cavity and being squeezed of its very last morsel of life; as though she, herself, was dying as her father before her.

A wave of warm fury ran over her, stinging her being, escalating the anguish she felt. Water littered her eyes; her eyebrows were drawn in frustration and fear. She began rocking back and forth, curling her knees into her chest, locking them close to her. She buried her head in her knees, trying to shut out the world around her, ignoring the possibility that this was actually happening, that somehow this was just a terrible nightmare like she suffered from the last few days.

This can't be happening, she kept yelling at herself. He's not gone. He can't be… no.

She could hear the merchants on the street setting up their stands for the day, joking merrily in the bright morning dew, so unlike the cloud covering her. Children laughed in high voices as their footsteps ran on the cobblestone streets, parents calling after them in disappointment. The cacophonous sound of crowds gathering shrilled in her ears. How could life go on so normally when her life seemed to be spiraling into a deep abyss?

Suddenly there came a knock at her door. She lifted her head from the lock on her knees, not moving the golden hair that draped over her face in a veil. It stuck to her tears, blotching unsightly to her. At this instant she didn't care. Her appearance could be waved off in this time of mourning.

She hadn't closed her door properly when she entered, leaving it slightly ajar to the corridor. Another knock rapped the dense oak. She didn't call out for approval to enter, her voice wouldn't come.

A young man poked his head through the entrance in curiosity. His black hair was slicked back off his pale face, showing a boy just scarcely a man. His eyebrows were pulled together in sympathy, explaining his hasty visit.

"Sigyn, I'm sorry," he said softly, pushing the door open and walked lightly to her side, and joined her on the edge of the bed. "We heard the news over breakfast. I came as soon as I could."

Loki wrapped his arm around her in comfort, pressing a cool slender hand on her back. The coolness felt refreshing in the growing warmth of a summer's day. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes to refrain herself from tears.

She peered at him through her mass of hair. One of his eyebrows was raised slightly, wrinkling his forehead with caverns, and he was biting his lip in an unfamiliar way to express his sorrow. He looked so young with that sad look in his eye, entirely contrary to the sometimes harsh, resented look that aged him dramatically. He gave a slight smile, erasing that thought in her mind, and he moved the hair from her eyes and off her tear ridden face. He ran a soft finger under her eyes, wiping the pools that gathered there.

She wanted to hide; far away from those iridescent teal eyes, that burned like ice, which saw every district of her pain. The eyes that wouldn't let her wallow too long in that misery; that would make her face reality eventually. She resisted the urge to bury her head back into her knees and cry.

"I am so sorry," he whispered, pulling her into a deep embrace. "Never forget that I'm here for you. Everything will be alright."

Sigyn moved her head down on his chest, against the soft cloth of his tunic, to the supple drum of his steady heartbeat. She listened to the rhythm, closing her eyes in its comfort. He stroked her back as if she was a child, and she felt comfort in his arms.

Warmth filled her gradually, starting at the tips of her fingers and spread around her. It was calming, mirroring the strong rhythm of Loki's heartbeat. Slowly, she drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

She woke wrapped snuggly in the blankets of her bed. A fire blazed in the hearth next to her and the drapes had been drawn back to reveal the shadowy sunlight of mid-day. A single snowdrop blossom laid on her nightstand. Sif had visited.

Sitting up, Sigyn felt overwhelmingly tense as though she laboured unyielding for hours. Her head throbbed in a dull pain from how intensely she ached. She poured herself a cup of water from the pitcher that sat on the nightstand. The water was cold and refreshing, loosening her tension. She held the cup fiercely, allowing the cold to run through her body. Settling the cup back on her nightstand, Sigyn reached for the flower near her and lifted it to her nose, taking a deep breath.

Sif had a hobby of collecting flowers. One wouldn't think she did as she had an intense interest in battle and war, but she could never resist storing and cataloging every plant she saw. She knew all the meanings of flowers, as well, always having a flower for an occasion. Snowdrops were for solace.

Sigyn hung her feet over the side of her bed, allowing her legs to swing just off the floor, letting them bounce off the wood bed frame in empty feeling. She felt lifeless again; not sad, not feeling any emotional pain, not feeling anything at all, not even her feet against the hard wood. She pushed herself off the bed, all of a sudden feeling a wave of anger, unsparked in fury.

She rushed over to her silver legged vanity, stopping short in her wrath, hesitant not to throw one of the valuable trinkets that were scattered on its surface. She wanted to break things and scream at the top of her lungs and break down in a sullen temper. She wanted to express this hatred she felt with the world, with the gods, in howls so incoherent it would seem like she was raging in madness.

She _was _raging in madness, down the fiery abyss of Hel, fueled in cruel schemes and hatred. Grasping the chair in front of her, she dug her fingers into the paint, forming cracks in its pearly surface. She took a breath deep enough to fill the outer edges of her lungs. Closing her eyes tightly, she took several more, subduing Hel inside her.

Opening her eyes, she peered in the looking glass before her at the foreign figure staring back at her. Her river run blue eyes shined red with freshly brewed rage. The swollen look of having cried for hours bloated her usual thin features, and her lips had turned a ghastly color of grey, being chapped and dry in unquenched thirst. Sun-soaked hair ripped down her shoulders, knotted like a poor beggar's, its tangles like a spider's web. Her hair was lack of the luster it normally possessed where it was able to match the sun in its brilliance and sing the eyes.

She was a bleak contrast. No color dotted her arms or brushed her cheeks. She was as pale as Winter's snow, kicked up by the touch of footstep's tread. Her hair was of summer days soaked in the sun, and her skin kissed by the clouds of winter.

Sigyn lost herself blankly, not truly looking at her distorted image in the mirror, but beyond that, inside her. Into deep crypt she locked her emotions away, buried under a peaceful image, glimpsing rarely to the world around her. This prison she felt trapped in. Inside it held her inner battle and fears, suffering a losing war against her. She was never able to reach it as it crept deeper and deeper inside her.

This rage frightened her. Never before had she felt this much hatred. She never felt anger unless it really irked her beyond her control. The vault she held had protruded farther than she had ever known, and she was uncertain how to restrain it from happening again.

As she thought this, a tapping came from her door.

"Come in," she said, her voice grizzled with hoarseness, glancing over her shoulder at the door.

Sif entered, carrying a tray of steaming plates and cups. "I thought you may be hungry," she said, placing the tray on the end of Sigyn's bed.

"Thank you for your consideration," Sigyn thanked her, loosening the grip on the chair in front of her and turned to face Sif.

"Oh, Si…," Sif said, taking the few steps to Sigyn to hang her arms around her in a hug. "I am so, so sorry."

_I'm sorry._ Why do they keep telling her they are sorry, Sigyn thought. It's not as though they killed her father. Death did. She would want an apology from her, not from Sif.

"I brought tea, I know that always helps," Sif said, releasing Sigyn and poured two cups of tea in large mugs and placed a teaspoon of sugar in each. Handing a cup to Sigyn, Sif sighed in the awkward silence. "Would you like me to help you dress tomorrow?" She asked after several uncomfortable sips.

"No, I will be able to ready myself," Sigyn answered her. Tomorrow would be the funeral procession, something Sigyn did not want to fathom right now.

"Would you like to talk about it?" Sif asked.

"No… not right now," Sigyn said. She moved to sit on her window sill, gazing through the mass of trees outside her window to faintly see the busy street below. Tucking her knees to her chest, she balanced the cup on them, freeing her fingers to unknot her tangled hair. Sif sat uncomfortably on the bed. She never liked silence much. Sigyn reveled in it. "You don't have to stay. I know you have duties to attend to."

"None are as important as aiding my closest friend."

"You are too kind, Sif," Sigyn said, taking a sip of her tea.

"You would do more for me," Sif told her. "I wish I could do more."

"You have done more than enough already. Tea was exactly the thing I needed."

"It's queer how tea can have that affect. So fantastical," Sif said with a laugh.

Sigyn found herself smiling as she took another sip, letting the warmth fill her.

Sif began to talk of the gossip around the palace. Eir was caught kissing Fandral under a brush in the garden. Thor had challenged Theoric to a battle to see who could get a golden apple from the Great Ash; Thor had won before Theoric even lifted a toe off the ground. And how tomorrow would be the greatest feast Asgard has ever seen, to commemorate the life of Iwald Jarlson.

It was growing dark out. Slowly the room began to be illuminated by the red glow of the fire that burned as the sunlight fell behind the walls of the palace, casting an eerie dance on the stone walls. Everything looked so magical in this light. It was Sigyn's favourite time of day. Leaves burned orange and scarlet outside her window and echoes of a lone bird chirping bounced in dissonance. Far off, a bell rang, like a ghost, nine strokes, signaling supper.

"We should go," Sif said, rising. "Are you coming to supper?" She asked when Sigyn didn't move.

"No. I have no desire to eat," Sigyn said, taking in the beautiful clash outside.

"Alright, I'll see you tomorrow." Sif gave her a quick hug and departed, leaving Sigyn alone, draped in low light.

All Sigyn could think about was her father's deep, soft laugh, telling stories beside the fireplace as she curled in a ball closing her eyes to tales of mystical dragons and adventures. As she sat on her windowsill she recalled her favourite tale of a princess trapped in a glass case guarded by a giant troll, waiting for a sorcerer to save her. Her father would reenact the great battle, with all the spells the wizard was casting and none would penetrate the troll. After ten years of tireless war, the wizard fell. The giant was remorseful that the wizard had died; he had made a companion with him through battle. With his new sympathy the troll broke the glass prison the princess was held in and set her free.

She made her father tell it to her every night when she was little, always shocked as to why the troll would let the princess go when he held her captive her whole life.

"Everything is good and bad," her father would tell her. "You cannot have one without the other inside you."

"So am I evil?" She would ask, her eyes glittering in fear.

"No, you are not."

"Then I'm good!" She would exclaim in a fit of joy, twirling around.

"It is our choices that make us who we are." He would say, sitting her down on the hearthstone. "We should never brand someone as one or the other for there is no true definition of what makes us good or bad; it is relative to the believer."

Sigyn snapped back to reality, the stories of her childhood disappearing in front of her. She leaned her head back to the wall behind her, gazing at the smooth arc above her in a silent question. Shadows from the fire jumped in golden bows and whispered the fables of burning timber around her. The hissing of the fire seemed to grow louder in her ears, laughing in small sharp voices. Sitting up more alertly, Sigyn felt terror run fresh through her.

The laughing seemed to encompass her, surrounding her, trapping her, growing ever more deafeningly in her ears. She sat frozen, hands grasped over her ears from the shrill noise. It washed over her, mocking her in deep rolls and bounced infinitely off the small confines of the room, racing back to her. She felt like she was trapped inside a massive tolling bell, the clapper within it, subjected to its vibrating never ending wrath.

The noise grew so boisterous around her it became muted, as though she was suddenly under water, though still bombarded with its fury. Her room glowed intensely like the fires of Hel and destruction; a redness, torching marble and scaring it in ashes. She could see an apparition of her father breaking the limits of the walls. His blonde hair waved maliciously about him, mixing with spouts of flame, his mouth open in a jolly mood. His laughter bellowed above the rest.

Sigyn forced her eyes shut, away from the depths of fire encircling her room; away from the horrible voices of a hundred scornful laughs. She screamed out at the top of her lungs in rage and hot tears steamed down her face.

"STOP IT!" She cried to the unknown. "STOP THIS." She felt her throat strain with exploitation.

Suddenly, she felt someone shaking her shoulders violently. She slowly opened her eyes drowsily to see Loki in dim light. She could see his lips moving, but no words came to her ears.

Her room was clouded in darkness, all but her fire, which burned in a low simmer, casting a radiant glow over Loki.

"Sigyn!" his voice yelled, shrouded under deafness. She could see he was screaming at her, but it came more as a whisper to her. "Sigyn, can you hear me?"

She closed her eyes drunkenly, too exhausted, too tired, for anything to matter.

"Oh, no, no, no you don't," Loki said, his voice getting stronger against the waves. "Come on, look at me."

He moved his hands to cup under her chin forcing her to open her eyes. His eyes shined bright in terror, tracing her eyes for harm. She peered mystified around her room. There was no burn marks etched into the smooth surface. No appalling stench of a raging fire. Her room was perfect; the way it normally looked; the way it looked this morning.

"All is well now." His voice was normal again to Sigyn's ears, strong and confident. "Are you alright?"

She nodded her head, her words trapped in her sore throat.

"There," Loki said, a weary smile on his lips. "You need sleep. Why don't we get you to bed?"

He helped her stand, she felt too weak to support even her own weight and climbed into the soft sheets of her bed. Loki sat on the edge of her bed near her as she felt her eyes drop slowly closed. She felt him stand and grabbed his hand quickly.

"No. Stay," she said, tugging at him to sit back down. "I don't want these demons to return."

"Alright." He sat next to her and held her hand as she slowly drifted into a peaceful sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Two

The next day passed as a blur to Sigyn. She woke early, far too early for her to do anything productive. The servants were going to help her get dressed for the funeral after breakfast; she couldn't stomach anything besides water, anyway, so she skipped breakfast again.

Her head spun uneasily whenever she tried to stand. Everything was going in and out of focus around her. Dust was magnified grandly, the cracks in her walls bright, the wardrobe a blurry mass of old wood.

She tried not to think of the events of yesterday although her mind jumped readily between them regardless. Glowing in a veil of crimson, her mind filled with the images she saw last night. She couldn't fathom as to why those vision came to her. Perhaps she was too tired or stressed from her father's passing that her mind abandoned her and her nightmares took full form. She shook those thoughts away from her with a quiver.

All she really wanted was to journey out to the gardens and hideaway like she did when she was young. She still does, quite often, to escape from the petty annoyances she fell victim to, or to read and think uninterrupted of the universe and everything's purpose in the realm. Under an ancient maple tree she would sit, on the old exposed roots that anchored it into the grass, losing herself in her thoughts. It was her spot, tucked near the flowing river bed, away from the city noise and towering structures, looking out on the Uninhabited, free to the wilderness. She was tempted to climb out her window to escape, though as she was unlatching the lock, a knock rang at her door and three servants entered, sullying her flight.

They helped her bathe in silence, the water scolding, although she always felt the warmer the water, the cleaner you became; she would be polished today. Her hair smelled of lavender and citrus as it freely cascaded in golden waves around her, newly washed and glossy. Sigyn slowly stepped into a heavy silk gown, black and braided, framing her supple collarbones and draped to pools around her feet. The sleeves were long, fading into vapors around her wrists, like clouds in summertime. No embellishments wrung on the cloth, no patterns drawn on its surface. It shined as deep as the night sky, smooth and unyielding: a mourning gown.

All she could think about was death. It grew in her mind as profoundly as the conglomeration of vapors of the dress that weighted her. Through the corridors as she walked, guided by a lynx haired servant, the cobwebs of the palace fascinated her, the unforgiving confines that held an insect to its slow death. She imagined that's how she felt, stuck, waiting for her death to come.

Through the winding stairwells and long corridors of the palace, she shuffled, guided blindly past the large vaulted windows with their stained glass singing with the rising sun. The ceiling arched massively, some in the middle of the palace infinitely high, with glass at the top to reveal the heavens above. They, however, were traveling deep within the palace, down to the depths and very core, surrounded by mountains of titled stone dampness. The grand staircase that ran in the centre of the palace was ordained with magnificent gold, shining with magnanimous luminosity and their footsteps down them chimed softly like small bells.

Sigyn had never been this deep inside the palace before. They wound further into the mountain the palace was built against, burrowing colder and colder with each step. The walls grew narrower, caustically amplifying the tightness Sigyn felt within her. Ahead of them there was a great door, etched with knots of gold and that reached as high was the ceiling itself. The massive doors started to swing open as they came closer, and servant stopped her stride, allowing Sigyn to cautiously enter the mausoleum by herself.

It was dimly lit by torches clinging to the walls, casting light into the rooms off the main corridor that was wide enough to fit ten men. Individual tombs within those rooms were shrouded under a veil of thin gold cloth, floating above the caskets ever so slightly. Sigyn's footsteps echoed faintly back to her, off the thick walls. The passage dipped slightly, opening more into a large circular confine, hollowed around a single coffin surrounded by flowers and bulky candles. The stone tomb was covered in the same light as air cloth and the others Sigyn passed on her way, which blew in the little air that spread around the crypt.

Gathered around the edge of the room were the faces she knew so well. Frigga, Thor and Loki grouped together near the main display. Sif and her parents were next to them, talking quietly in bowed heads. Next came men from the Archives in brilliant purple robes and a very important looking elder from Vanaheim, who looked confused and bewildered by the structure they were in, for he kept peering at the ceiling and carvings encircling the room. The Allfather stood next to the casket, near his family, and bowed his head slightly in condolence when Sigyn entered the room. Sigyn made her to the opposite side of the coffin from Odin and stood awkwardly, not wanting to make any eye contact with anyone.

The echo of the heavy main door closing traveled down the long corridor and bounced several times around the round room. Slowly, the form of Syn came into view, walking, it seemed, with great effort and proclivity on the arm of a man in deep scarlet robes and graying hair: the high councilman. They shuffled their way next to Sigyn, her mother who glanced a tear ridden look at her, and held her hand, squeezing for support.

Odin cleared his throat, silencing the barely audible whispers that floated around the room.

"On this day we remember the man that was Iwald Jarlson," the Allfather began, his voice suited for the expansive hall of the throne, boomed in this restricted space. "He was a brilliant man, full of wisdom and solitude. He will be dearly missed."

Sigyn stared uncomfortably at the vaulted ceiling, trying not the twitch her free hand out of awkwardness. She didn't want to be here. She didn't want to acknowledge her father's passing. She still couldn't believe it yet. That piece of him inside her hadn't faded yet. It was still alive, burning, and full of life.

Blocking out Odin's powerful stanza, Sigyn moved her gaze over Loki's shoulder, noting the small doorway behind him. _Förfäde__r_was written neatly above the rounded edge. Sigyn had heard there was a hidden floor where the kings and queens of past were laid with treasures and great memorials surrounding them. Only those of royalty could enter the chambers, for it was rumoured that the doorway would not allow any whose blood was not noble of Asgard to pass.

She realized Loki was staring at her, most likely thinking she was actually looking at him. He gave a low wave at her, flicking his wrist ever so slightly. He nudged his head toward Odin, as to tell her to listen to what he was saying. She rolled her eyes at him and looked to Odin next her.

"So on this day, we rest the son of Jarl in the Tomb of Warriors, for he was a warrior; a warrior not overly appreciated on Asgard, but a warrior the same; a warrior of words. He was a friend, a husband, and a father. May there be an exceptional spot in Valhalla for him."

Odin moved his hand just over the gold cloth hovering above the coffin and it burst into flame under his palm, covering the top of the stone black in waves.

"Tonight, we will celebrate his honour in a special feast," Odin said, looking about the room. "May my condolences comfort you in this time of mourning," he added, glancing over to Sigyn and her mother. "Now… walk with us."

The coffin rose barely off the floor, gliding just above it. Odin took a step forward, the coffin following him. Sigyn and her mother moved to walk behind it as they made their way out of the room and down the long corridor. The others queued behind them.

The group made its way down the dim hallway, past several filled crevices and finally stopped halfway down, at an empty vault.

"Here you shall rest," Odin said softly as the coffin glided into the vault and took its spot in the middle of the small room. "Jarl's son… my friend, goodbye."

As Odin spoke, on the wall behind where the coffin faced, being written in a glowing scribe, was _Iwald Jarlson_. Sigyn heard her mother start to weep softly next to her, and she wrapped her arm around her in comfort. Her mother had composed herself well today.

"Come…we will feast tonight. Until then, honour his life, Lady Syn and Sigyn, not only his passing. Be brave."

The rest of the group began to filter out of the corridor, though Sigyn and her mother stayed where they stood, unaltered. Sif gave Sigyn a small squeeze on her shoulder as she passed and glanced over her shoulder back at them as she left. Once everyone was gone, and the door shut, leaving them in low light, Sigyn made a move to touch her father's coffin. Syn held her arm weakly out so that Sigyn wasn't able to enter.

"It is bad luck," Syn said, lowering her arm, "The bells haven't tolled yet."

Yes, it was bad luck, Sigyn remembered. It was Vanaheim lore that a ring of a bell would keep the spirit safe from evil as it shifted to Valhalla. Her mother believed that if you touched the resting place before the bells have rung, you might have a curse placed upon you.

Deep within the palace, far above them, the deep rumble of the bell tower shook out seven strokes of tribute.

Neither of them moved.

They stood in silence, staring at the resting place of her father. Sigyn became overwhelmed with a sense of grief, the final realization that her father was dead. Of course, she accepted it before hand, last night, this morning, but at this moment it was solid in her mind differently than before; more real, more accepting, as she saw the barren memorial to her father. Tears began to roll down from her eyes, though she didn't stop them from falling. She let them sit there as a scar to her sadness.

Her mother was crying as well, silently blotting her eyes with a pocket square. Sigyn wondered how her mother would cope. Sigyn knew last night that her mother didn't sleep in her own bed. She almost certainly wouldn't sleep there tonight too.

Syn looked at Sigyn with deep eyes and moved the hair off of her face. She pulled her into a long hug and kissed her cheek with a warm peck.

"We should rest," she said, taking Sigyn's hand in hers. Her slender fingers were warm and comforting to Sigyn.

As they walked down the corridor, Sigyn glanced back at her father's private section. "Goodbye," she whispered softly and squeezed her mother's hand.

They walked back to their apartments without speaking, silently lost in their own thoughts. Servants and others throughout the palace made way when they passed, bowing their heads in recognition and sympathy.

Sigyn entered her still room. The window was open, blowing the curtains in wisps. She leaned against the back of her door, closing her eyes, allowing the soft breeze to hit her. She took several breathes before moving to take off the dress that was full of death. Blindly loosening the laces in the back, she allowed the dress to fall to the floor in a puddle like fog around her ankles. She went to the sink in the her joined bathroom and splashed cold water on her face, removing the remains of the salty tears that dotted her cheeks. She climbed idly back into her bed, wrapping herself in the light white sheet and rested her head on her cool pillow.

Closing her eyes, she took several deep breathes, flushing away any sadness that lingered in her thoughts. She tried to give a weary smile to prove herself she could be happy, though it came forced and unnatural to her lips. Sighing, she closed her eyes and welcomed the darkness behind her eyelids.

It seemed strange, but she couldn't picture her father in her mind's eye, no matter how hard she tried. She could recall what he looked like, the individual features that craved his weathered face, but not his overall image. His voice echoed in her mind though, deep and clear, as though he was speaking right next to her. She drew another deep breath, and wiped those thoughts away from her. She didn't want to remember her father right now. She would burst into tears if she did any further.

She lay there, staring at the fireplace across from her, out the window next to that, at the rustling leaves of the tress beyond, anything to distract her thoughts. Time passed, perhaps hours, perhaps minutes, that she remained like that, she couldn't tell. The sun shone constantly into her window not diminishing or brightening the light pouring in to tell the time.

While she rested, escaping her thoughts, she noticed a small, thin garden snake slithering between her sheets. On its green body a streak of bright gold trailed down its back. Instead of being frightened of it, she gave a heavy goaded sigh.

"That is exceptionally indecent of you," she said calmly to the snake. She rolled her eyes closed as the snake stuck out its forked tongue at her and gave a small hiss. When she opened her eyes the snake was gone from her bed. Instead, Loki stood next to her, a wide smile on his face.

"You're right. If you'll excuse me, I'll do this the properly."

Loki gave a slight bow and turned on his heel and vanished out of thin air from her room. Suddenly there came a knock at her door.

"Lady Sigyn, I request your presence," Loki said in a singsong voice. Sigyn could hear the laughter in his voice. "Will you please allow me counsel? It would be terribly rude to enter your chambers unannounced for I wouldn't want to intrude if you were indecent."

Sigyn felt a smile creep onto her lips without strain as she swung out of bed and toward the door. Loki was still rambling about etiquette outside with a sarcastic tone.

"If I open the door would you shut up?" She interrupted him.

"As you wish."

Sigyn opened the door to Loki's wide smile.

"Proud of yourself?" She asked him, allowing him to enter.

"Yes, actually," he said, taking a seat at the edge of her bed. "That was quite good. Very proud of myself."

Loki had been trying to perfect being able to vanish out of a room. It was much of an improvement since he usually became stuck somewhere he didn't mean to be, or not fully vanish himself completely, leaving a shoe or even a body part left from the place he escaped. Of course, that magic only allowed him to travel small distances, a few yards or rooms from his starting place.

Sigyn grabbed her robe from off the back of her vanity chair and put it around her shoulders, becoming aware of only the thin cloth of her shift that covered her. She suddenly felt vulnerable. Loki had seen her several times in her shift, or less when she was injured in a raid, though her sadness left her exposed both mentally and physically, and the thin silk helped to sooth her.

"The dinner is about to start," said Loki, who started to bounce like an impatient child on her bed. "You are planning to come, aren't you?" He studied her curiously.

"Of course," Sigyn answered, crossing her arms across her chest. She couldn't subdue the agony that crept into her answer. No, she didn't want to go. She always felt uncomfortable at celebrations and would especially at this one, where people would constantly talk to her awkwardly about her father.

Catching the stubble desperation in her voice, Loki gave a smile, seeing her discomfort.

"Oh, it won't be too painful," he said, trying to reassure her. "Just be your usual hostile self and no one will bother you," he joked.

"I beg that be the circumstance."

"You're not going dressed like that, are you?" He asked, looking at her robe and ratted hair.

"No, no," Sigyn said, glancing down at her feet. "I should make ready."

"May I?" Loki asked, standing.

"Do wha-?"

Sigyn felt a flurry rush over her and the weight of a heavy fabric against her skin. She glanced down to see she was no longer wearing her cotton shift and robe, but her daily garb. A long purple tunic flowed passed her hips and laced in the front. It was almost concealed by a short brown leather jacket that ran down her arms and had gold plates on her forearms and ribs. Dark leather trousers constricted her legs and heavy boots kept her feet on the ground. She gave a sigh of relief. It felt good to wear something so familiar it was as though it was a second skin.

Since she wasn't yet married, Sigyn could wear such casual and, what her mother would call, unladylike clothes. She dreaded the day she couldn't wear this. It felt like freedom to her. She could spend hours adventuring and be completely comfortable. Though it was too light to wear into battle, Sigyn often wished she could. She could move more freely in it, without the added metal of her battle garment, and she thought it could protect her just the same.

She turned to look in her mirror and saw that her hair was spiraled in perfect waves, untangled and sinuous. The dark bags under her eyes were wiped clean and she looked radiant like the morning sun, so unlike the portrait of disparity she felt this morning.

"Much better," Loki said, admiring his work.

"That is a neat trick," said Sigyn, wondering how he had managed that. "I need to learn that charm. It would save me much time in the morning."

"I'll teach it to you."

"As I'm learning and fail to clothe properly, it would most ungentlemanly of you," Sigyn said.

"Only in the beginning," Loki said with a smile. "And I would cover my eyes."

"I'll learn it myself, thank you."

"Shall we be off?" He asked, holding out his arm to her.

Sigyn placed her arm in his and they made their way down the corridor to the main passage. Down the grand staircase they pranced to the second floor. Loki was trying to get her to skip though Sigyn refused to. He pulled her along like an eager young child, racing to the dining hall, seemingly starving for his meal.

"I would have thought Sif would have fetched me earlier," Sigyn said, pulling at Loki's arm to slow his pace. She was starting to become out of breath with his hurried stride.

"Thor has carted her off to a dark corner already," he said, rolling his eyes in fake nausea.

Sif and Thor had began courting only days ago, much to the surprise of everyone around them. Thor was known to have escapades with mistresses and maids, though he always had an eye for Sif, and Sigyn, herself, thought Thor incapable of wholehearted fidelity. She only wanted Sif to happy, and Sif was completely elated when Thor was granted permission. Loki was counting down the days the courtship would last. He had little faith in all relationships.

They neared the Great Hall and roars of laughter and gossip grew louder and louder.

"It seems as though it's been started long," Sigyn noted.

"Yes, we didn't want to rush you."

"But the sooner I was here, the sooner I'd be able to leave. Now I have to stay the whole night."

"You sound has though its torture," Loki said with a smile.

"It is," she said, walking into the warmly light room.

Thousand of eyes glanced in her direction amongst the tables and chairs scattered wildly around the hall. It was a sea of people, more than she had seen for a funeral feast. She searched for her mother frantically. There she was, huddled next to Frigga and a fire, her head bowed in a wine goblet.

"Sigyn!" She heard a thunderous name call out from somewhere within the crowd. "Come!"

"He sounds drunk already," She whispered to Loki of Thor.

He led her blindly through the waves of food and beer, cutting his was effortlessly through. Hands of strange faces patted and rubbed Sigyn's hair in condolence as she made her way through and glasses were raised toward her. Deep within the center of the hall sat her group of closest friends.

A whole boar sat at the center of a large oak table and mugs sprawled across it, beer sticking to the wood. Volstagg had fat dripping down his beard already.

"Finally," Fandral said, handing Sigyn a wooden plate. "Loki succeed at wooing you finally?"

"Now, Fandral," Volstagg added with a laugh, "You know he's unable of that."

Loki gave Volstagg a harsh look and whispered something Siygn couldn't hear under his breath.

"Let us drink, and forget the hardships of these past days," Thor said, pouring a mug of ale and handing it to Sigyn. "To Death!"

"To Death!" rang out among the hall, not only within their circle. Glasses raised toward the heavens clanked and splashed their contents, finally making their way to lips.

Sigyn weakly raised her cup and took a small sip. "To Death."


End file.
